


Time

by Chipper99



Series: Destiel One Shots [9]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: 15x18, Angst, Episode Related, Heavy Angst, Kinda happy ending?, M/M, My Hopes Basically, Post Season 15 Ep 18, Post Season 15 Episode 18, Season/Series 15, Season/Series 15 Spoilers, Spoilers, post episode
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-09
Updated: 2020-11-09
Packaged: 2021-03-09 00:28:55
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,021
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27475798
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Chipper99/pseuds/Chipper99
Summary: Something was glaring at him. Something dark and red, dried and crusty on his jacket. He could still feel Castiel’s hand clasped atop his shoulder. Maybe because it was still there.Fresh tears burn at his eyes, jaw clenching so hard he’s sure a few teeth were going to shatter. A part of him had always missed that scar.He didn’t want it back like this.The wooden panels of the barn are barely hanging on. The paint has long since chipped and faded, nature attempting to reclaim what was once it’s property. The wood creaked as the growing wind pushed against its weak frame, groaning like an old man with sore bones. Dean places two tentative hands on the splintered doors, letting his eyes flutter shut as he takes a breath to prepare himself. He pushes against the old wood.The doors creak open.- - -Set after the events of Season 15 Episode 18 'Despair', Dean finds himself back where it all started.Where they first met.
Relationships: Castiel/Dean Winchester
Series: Destiel One Shots [9]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1514507
Comments: 6
Kudos: 143





	Time

He should have told them.

That was basically their catchphrase by now, wasn’t it? Keeping secrets from each other seems the norm. But it’s not like he didn’t _want_ to tell them.

He just couldn’t.

They had found him there, huddled up on the concrete floor in the bunker. They had raced home to him, of course. His fault, again – he hadn’t answered their frantic calls to his phone. It had remained where he dropped it, that annoying buzzing as Sam tried again and again and _again_ to get through to him. He had barely been able to scoop the phone back up from the floor, just wanting the buzzing to _stop._ He needed a minute, one minute to let him _think._

But then, through all the missed calls from Sam, he saw one missed call from Cas.

Usually, he would have thrown the phone at the wall. Listen to the satisfying sound of the electronic breaking into pieces, listen to the crack of the screen and the sound of the little shards fall to the ground. Instead, he tapped on Cas’s name, his shaking thumb nearly missing his name, trembling hands lifting the phone to his ear.

It rang.

And it rang.

And it rang.

‘ _This is my voicemail. Make your voice… a mail.’_

A choked sob left Dean’s lips, lifting a hand to his face as his body is wracked with more sobs. His lungs heave with every breath, shoulders jumping with every sharp inhale. There’s a mess of words whirling around in his mind, and he can’t sort through any of them to say what he wants, no, _needs_ to. Instead, he can only force out one cracked, breathless word.

“Cas…”

The phone slips from his hands once more, the thump of it hitting the floor echoing around the quiet room. His head falls into his hands again, a fresh wave of agony washing over him as he hears the sound of the call disconnecting.

Footsteps. Pounding footsteps, bouncing off the bunkers hallways. Someone was screaming his name, but the sound was muted, like he was underwater. The panic in the person's voice tugs at something inside of him, something that’s yelling at him to get his ass up from the floor and get shit done.

There’s another voice too… an extra set of footsteps, echoing his name. This voice was younger, newer, but the worry in their voice was no less sincere than the others.

“Dean? Dean?!”

It’s getting closer now. He could hear the footsteps getting louder, hear them race around, searching in all of the bunker’s rooms. He was going to answer them. He really was. But then they threw another panicked name into the mix, and suddenly Dean didn’t trust himself to speak.

“Castiel!”

“Cas!”

“Dean! Cas?! Where are you?!”

Their shadow is the first thing Dean see’s through his blurry vision. Frozen at the entrance to the room, the two of them stood next to the door that had been busted open. They’re only still for a moment before they’re racing towards him. There’s another hand on his shoulder – the right, this time. Not the left, that was Cas’s shoulder…

“Dean!”

In the back of his mind, he knows that it’s Sammy. He’s aware that it’s Sammy knelt by his side, desperate tears shining in his eyes and fear plastered on his face as his fingers grip tight onto his jacket. He’s aware that it’s Jack who stood just behind Sam, looking torn between wanting to be near him, to comfort him, but unsure; Jack doesn’t know if Dean will lash out just yet. He isn’t too sure himself yet.

“Dean, talk to me!” Sam was getting more desperate now, his hand tightening on his shoulder to the point of pain. “Dean, what happened? Where’s Cas?”

“Cas…” Is all Dean can croak out in his haze, voice raw.

“What about Cas?” Sam asks frantically, giving Dean’s shoulder a rough shake. Jack looked like he was about to cry. Dean wondered if he knew already. If he could feel it.

“What happened with Billy, Dean? Is she…?”

Dean’s mouth opens and closes uselessly like a fish out of water. His throat felt closed up, not even air seemed able to escape. His vision comes back into clarity, eyes finally focusing on his little brother's distressed face, waiting for him to answer.

Dean pats at the floor, scooping up his phone and shoving it back into his pocket. He struggles to his feet. There’s a tugging on his arm – probably Sam trying to help him up. His legs are shaking, and judging by the look on Sam’s face, he noticed it too. They don’t say anything as Dean takes his first few hesitant steps forward, pushing past them and stumbling out of the room with a few unintelligent mumbles about the bathroom. They follow him in anxious silence, quiet shadowing footsteps as Dean moves through the bunker.

He can still hear them outside his bathroom door once he closes it, their silence never seeming so loud. He hears Sam’s murmured whispers to Jack, hears Sam tell Jack to give Dean a minute. Dean blinks back at himself in the mirror, staring back at the bloodshot eyes that were watching him. His hair is spiked up, a mess from where he had been tearing his hands through it. His face is red and splotchy, tracks of drying tears cascading down his face. His nose and throat still feel thick and clogged, making him hitch with every new intake of air.

Something was glaring at him. Something dark and red, dried and crusty on his jacket. He could still feel Castiel’s hand clasped atop his shoulder. Maybe because it _was_ still there.

Fresh tears burn at his eyes, jaw clenching so hard he’s sure a few teeth were going to shatter. A part of him had always missed that scar.

He didn’t want it back like this.

Dean threw open the door harder than he meant to. Though he was grateful that he did, as the shock of it meant it took Sam and Jack a few moments to realize Dean was storming down the hallway and out of sight. Sam was yelling, calling out his name again, but Dean couldn’t stop. He couldn’t _stop._ His mind had been set on something, and that was all there was to it.

He didn’t take Baby- she was parked in the Bunker’s garage. He hadn’t grabbed her keys. Instead, he jumped into Eileen’s, keys still in the ignition from where Sam and Jack had hurried out to find him. He twists the key harshly, the engine roaring to life under his touch. He throws the car into drive, stomping down on the gas, tires screeching as the truck lurches forward.

This was something he could do. Driving was easy, driving was natural. He didn’t have to think. He didn’t _want_ to think. It was just him, the worn steering wheel under his hands, and the asphalt in front of him. His mind didn’t even register the sun dipping below the horizon. It didn’t register the murky purple and orange of the sunset turning to black; to that inky, endless blackness he _hates._ He just switches on the headlights, and that’s that.

He sits frozen in the car for a while after he arrives. He hadn’t realized how long he had been driving until he saw the signs for Pontiac, Illinois. How long had the drive been? Ten hours? Eleven? The engine shook the frame of the car with its rumbles, which he found oddly soothing; like rocking a baby to sleep. The structure outside seemed to tower over him, even more derelict and run down than the last time he had been here.

That’s what time did, he guessed.

The engine cuts off with a flick of his wrist and a turn of the keys. The cold of the door handle bites into his skin – he hadn’t even turned on the heat, he realized – and he throws the door open. The cold outside is no better, icy wind pricking at his exposed skin, drying the tears on his face – when had he started crying again?

The wooden panels of the barn are barely hanging on. The paint has long since chipped and faded, nature attempting to reclaim what was once it’s property. The wood creaked as the growing wind pushed against its weak frame, groaning like an old man with sore bones. Dean places two tentative hands on the splintered doors, letting his eyes flutter shut as he takes a breath to prepare himself. He pushes against the old wood.

The doors creak open.

It hadn’t been locked, then. Why would it have been? The barn had been long abandoned the first time he and Bobby had stepped foot in the crumbling shelter, why would it be reclaimed now?

It seems to take an eternity for the doors to fully swing open. His eyes shoot up to the walls, rapidly scanning across the fading sigils that defiantly remained painted across. They had covered every square inch of the place in every protective sigil they knew. It hadn’t done a thing. They didn’t know of the creature that was going to walk through those doors.

Bright light fills the barn, a crack of lightning striking followed by a boom of thunder so loud it made the ground shake and-

Suddenly, Dean was back there. Back when he was sat leaning against the table that had been left abandoned, just like the barn itself, back when he had been absentmindedly preparing their weapons for the creature they had summoned. When it seemed like the roof of the barn was about to take flight, panels crashing into each other, Dean foolishly assuming it was ‘just the wind.’

Just the wind. Ha. Yeah, right…

The lightning had struck. Again, and again, and again. Like camera flashes, blinding light pulsating all around them. Not just the lightning though, no, the _lights._ Overloaded with a power they had never known, the fragile glass bulbs bursting with the power they were unable to contain. Dean hadn’t ever felt such fear. This… this was something different. Something new.

Dean didn’t like change. He didn’t like the unpredictability of it.

The doors had seemed to open by themselves. The man, although even then he certainly knew it wasn’t a _man,_ did not have his arms outstretched to open it. It had thrown him off. He knew what wasn’t in front of him wasn’t a human, but… had it not displayed its power to them, he would never have guessed it wasn’t. He looked… normal: long tan trenchcoat billowing behind him as he advanced, shiny polished black shoes that looked well cared for, unkempt brown hair which stuck out in every direction; so dark it almost looked black, and the bluest eyes Dean thinks he’s ever seen.

Had he been leaking some of his grace into his eyes, back then? That’s the only explanation Dean had for the beauty of them.

Those eyes bore into him. Into his _soul._ A gaze so piercing, he was sure the man in front of him knew all his secrets. He probably did, Dean thinks. He had rebuilt Dean from the ground up. His body, his soul, he had knitted him back together. Dean had been laid bare to him, every part of him down to the last atom.

‘ _We do share a more profound bond.’_

Dean doesn’t find himself back in the present until he feels the sharp sting in his palm. He had fallen to his knees on the hard concrete, shards of glass piercing through the flesh of his hand. He raises a shaking hand to his face, instinctively picking out the jagged pieces from it. Crimson blood had bubbled to the surface, dribbling down the side of his hand from the bigger slices. His fingers clenched into a fist, intensifying the pain as his blood squeezed between his closed fingers.

Some more scars to add to the collection.

He isn’t too sure how he got back to his feet. He knows it took a lot of stumbling. His feet drag him over to the old table, somehow still standing after all these years. It’s even more miraculous when he takes a seat on it that it doesn’t just crumble into pieces underneath him.

His injured hand is cradled in his other, resting on his lap. He stares blankly down at it, smearing the slowing flow of blood across his pale skin. He was almost expecting to find Castiel by his side, gesturing for his injured hand.

‘ _I could heal that for you.’_

The barn was _freezing,_ and yet, Dean slowly peeled his jacket off his body. His hands had begun to shake again as he turned the jacket onto its front, Cas’s bloody handprint staring back at him. He placed his non-injured hand atop the print – not the bloody one, he didn’t want to ruin… ruin…

Was this it? Was this all of Cas he had left? No trenchcoat this time. No possessions. Did he even have any photos of Cas? _Why_ didn’t he have any photos of Cas? Would it just be this: his memories and this handprint?

His head lowers down, forehead resting atop his hand, resting atop the handprint. More tears are fighting to escape, but he doesn’t let them out. He doesn’t want to smudge it. His eyes are scrunched as hard as he dares, teeth clenched into a pained grimace. The breath he had been holding left his chest in one big shaky exhale, tightening his grip on Cas’s hand.

“Cas?” It was barely more than a whisper, yet his voice seemed to boom around the barn. “Cas, I… I don’t know how it works… wherever _there_ is. Maybe I’m just talking to myself here, in the middle of nowhere - like an idiot.”

Dean tried to laugh, but what came out was more of a sob than anything. “I wish you’d told me, man. I wish you’d-,” He stops himself, lifting his head back up with a sluggish shake, wiping at the tears that had beaten his control.

“How long…? How long were you holding onto that? You shouldn’t… you shouldn’t have had to hide that from me, Cas. And now-,” Dean has to push down the anger that had begun to bubble to the surface. Not at Cas. Not for this…

“What was I supposed to do? Is there…. _Is_ there something I could have done? I’ve gone through it in my head over and over and _over,_ and… Cas, I don’t even know what to say _now,_ let alone then. All I could think about was that you were saying goodbye, and I wasn’t… I thought I could _stop it._

And then you said it… god, _dammit_ Cas, you said it. And I knew. I knew you’d done it. The Empty came for you, and I… I _tried,_ dammit. I tried to tell you, but there wasn’t enough _goddamn_ time. You shoved me away, threw yourself in the firing line for _me – again –_ and...”

He’s shaking again. Or had he never stopped? He’s not too sure. It’s making it hard to talk.

“You died. You died, and I never got to tell you… You died, thinking you couldn’t have what you wanted, you _idiot_ , you stupid stupid angel…”

The engine of the Impala purrs in the distance. They’d tracked him down, which he’d expected they would. He just…

He needed some more time.

“I was gonna tell you now, Cas. I was gonna scream and shout at you for not telling me about the deal earlier, that we would have gotten you out of it if we’d known. I’m not gonna do that, Cas. There’s only one thing I need to tell you.”

The headlights of the Impala bathe the barn in a golden glow. They’re gone as quickly as they came, engine cutting off and hinges squeaking as Baby’s doors are thrown open. Dean scrunches his jacket to his chest.

“And I’m not telling you that till we get you out of there, Cas. You deserve to hear it from me, face to face. Not like this.”

“Dean!” Sam’s voice is flooded with relief at the sight of him. His brother is on him in an instant, crushing him into his chest in a bone-crushing hug. The jacket sits snugly between them. Jack hovered nearby, watching them with concern.

“…How did you find me?” Dean asks drearily once Sam pulls away from him.

“Your phone,” Sam answers, a protective hand clasped around the side of Dean’s face. “Why’d you come here? Why…” Sam huffed in frustration. “You’ve got to tell me what’s going on, Dean. We thought – We thought Billy might have gotten you, too.”

“Not Billy,” Dean croaks out. “It was… It was Chuck. Billy, she… she was already dying, Sam. That cut was all that was needed to bring her down. She would have died anyway, but I brought Cas into it anyway and-,”

“Oh my God…” The realization hits Sam like a punch to the gut. “Dean, we… They’re all gone. Not just the people from the apocalypse world, not just… God… Bobby, and Charlie, and Eileen, and… Donna went too.”

Every name was another gash to the chest for Dean. Another mark to the tally. Another person he has to grieve for.

“Dean… I think… there’s _no-one left_.”

“…What?”

“Didn’t you notice?” Jack piped up quietly from next to them. Dean tears his eyes from his brother to the kid. “There’s no one on the roads, Dean. Everything’s too quiet…”

Jack was right. How had he not noticed? Had he been _that_ zoned out of it? He didn’t pass a single person on the road. Not on the quiet backways, not on the highways… there was nothing.

“It’s just us?” Dean asks them in disbelief. “It’s just… just us three?”

Sam goes oddly still at that. Jack looked like he had heard what he had been waiting to hear. Well, dreading to hear, really.

“Just us three?” Sam repeats Dean’s question. “Dean… what happened to Cas?”

Dean can just about lift his eyes up to Jack in response. The poor kid looks on the verge of tears, and Dean can’t find it in himself to say anything. Sam whips his head to face Jack, confusion written across his face.

“Jack?”

But Jack wasn’t looking at Sam. His glassy eyes were fixed on Dean, fixed on the emptiness he saw behind Dean’s. “I’m sorry…”

Dean swallows harshly, the muscles in his throat contracting tightly. There’s nothing to say. He just shuts his eyes, nods at the apology.

“Is he…?” Sam can’t even finish the question. A part of him already knows the answer.

“I didn’t- Cas said, he – he didn’t think he would be happy, but-,” Jack begins to blubber out, the gears in his head turning away. “The Empty said it wouldn’t come for Cas until he was happy?”

“It came,” Dean answered, staring blankly down at the jacket in his lap. “The Empty came to collect its deal.”

“But… what made Cas happy?” Jack asked, voice full of innocence and confusion. Sam’s face broke, understanding written across his face as he looked down at his broken big brother, began to connect the dots.

“Oh, Dean…”

“He’s gone, Sammy,” And then his brother's arms were wrapped around him again, a mutual understanding, a mutual grief shared between the two. “I couldn’t save him, I-,”

“I know, Dean.” Sam comforted the crumbling man in front of him, letting his own tears of grief spill for his best friend. “It’s not your fault, Dean. It’s okay.”

“He did it for me…” Dean’s ragged voice was muffled into his brother's shoulder. “He died for me, Sammy. He died for me, and I couldn’t stop him-,”

Over his brother shoulder, through his tear-filled vision, Dean locked eyes with Jack. And then, all of a sudden… he saw himself. He saw the blame Jack was placing on himself, he saw the grief that made him shake, standing alone watching the two comfort one another and he realised-

Jack loved Cas, too. It was a different bond, one of father and son, but Jack _loved_ him.

Dean reached out a hand to him.

“No!” Jack recoiled away like Dean was about to hit him. The grief had turned to fear in a split second, and Dean retracted his hand so quickly he nearly hit Sam.

“Don’t touch me!” Jack continued in a panic, creeping away from the two of them.

“Jack, what’s wrong?” Sam turned to face Jack.

“I…” Jack looked down at his own hands. “I don’t know. Something’s wrong with me…”

“Something wrong how?” Dean dared to ask.

“There was this plant… in the silo…” Jack briefly tore his gaze from his hands to look at the two brothers. “I hadn’t even touched it, I was just… _near_ it. It just… it _died._ Wilted away.”

Sam whipped his head around to look back at Dean, matching alarm on their faces.

“Is it something to do with your powers?” Dean asked. “Is there… is there still something left?”

“I don’t know,” Jack answered honestly. “I think… I think something happened, back in the Empty.”

“When you were… the bomb for Chuck?” Sam had to fight himself not to step closer to Jack.

“I think so. After I exploded, I mean. I could feel something was different when I was put back.”

Dean wiped a hand across his face, exhaustion filling the empty hole in his chest. “I don’t know… I don’t know if this is Chuck, or it was Billy, or,-“

“The book…” Sam mutters at the realization. “We still have Chuck’s book! I mean – Billy read it again, didn’t she? After the plan changed, once Jack came back? Maybe this is part of the book, a new plan to end Chuck!”

“But we can’t read it,” Jack pointed out. “Only Billy could.”

“Exactly!” Sam exclaimed, much to both Dean and Jack’s confusion. “Only Death can read God’s book! But Billy’s dead now! And like Billy said-,”

“Whichever Reaper dies after Death is killed becomes the new Death…” Dean fills in the gap.

“So we just have to find the next Death, right?” Sam said, the first signs of hope blooming in his voice.

It was a plan. A start, at least. That was all they had.

“But what if we’re really _all_ that’s left, Sam?” Dean asked. “What if Chuck didn’t wipe out just the humans? What if it’s _everything._ The monsters, the demons, the angels, the reapers… What if there _is_ no death?”

“We won't know until we look, Dean.” Sam fought hard to keep the hope alive. “Maybe there’s someone, even _something_ still out there. We don’t know for sure it’s _just_ us. But… we need to get out of here to do that…”

Dean nodded solemnly, looking down to the jacket once more. He took in a ragged breath, folding the jacket meticulously and placing a hand tenderly atop the handprint. “Alright. We’re gonna find someone. We’re gonna read that damn book, and we’re gonna kill Chuck.”

Dean’s eyes flicked up to the two of them, fiery determination lighting up the emerald of his eyes. “Then we’re gonna find a way to open up the Empty, and we’re gonna drag that dumb son of a bitch of ours back home.”

Sam smiled warmly at his brother, giving him a friendly slap to the arm. “Yeah. We’ll get him back. We’ll find a way.”

Dean nodded resolutely to the two of them, jumping up from the table and striding past them.

"Cas is gonna get his damn happiness,” Dean promised to himself, to Cas, to the Universe as he walked past those barn doors. “I’m gonna make sure he _knows_ this time.”

“Know’s what?” Jack asked inquisitively, nearly having to jog to keep up with the brother's long strides.

Dean nearly laughed. _Nearly._

“That he's allowed what he wants,” Dean answered simply. “What he thought he could never have.”


End file.
